


drain me

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Incubus Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25881826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: “Not a scratch on ‘im,” he continued, shaking his head. “All we know is it was probably that fucking bard.”He was surprised to hear that. Bards didn’t usually mess around with death. To be a bard meant to have a good reputation, even he knew that. Geralt barely realized he had stood up until he was standing at the bar with the men. They all eyed him like he was a disease, but he was undeterred, still stuck on their story.“You think a bard murdered a man and just left him to be found in your lovely establishment?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 429





	drain me

**Author's Note:**

> just a lil one shot i wrote when i was bored 

Geralt hadn’t actually ever met one before. He had heard of them, stories from others that he questioned the validity of, but he had never actually stumbled across one despite his long life. Until he entered a small town and overheard the bartender talking hushed with some of the patrons:

“He was just _there_ , dead as a doorknob! Not a breath of life in him!”

Geralt watched from the corner of the room as one of the patrons shivered, leaning away. “And they couldn’t find anything wrong with him?”

“Not a scratch on ‘im,” he continued, shaking his head. “All we know is it was probably that fucking bard.”

He was surprised to hear that. Bards didn’t usually mess around with death. To be a bard meant to have a good reputation, even he knew that. Geralt barely realized he had stood up until he was standing at the bar with the men. They all eyed him like he was a disease, but he was undeterred, still stuck on their story.

“You think a bard murdered a man and just left him to be found in your lovely establishment?”

The bartender spit to the side. “What, you think I’m _lying?_ ”

“No, just odd.” Geralt tapped his gloved fingers against the top of the bar. “Did the bard have a name?”

He glared at him even as he answered: “Jaskier,” he said, “but who knows if that was even his real name.”

With a final nod, and that information stored away for later, Geralt turned and left the tavern. He didn’t know why he had even asked. Human affairs were none of his concern, and the barkeeper was right; the bard had probably used a fake name, especially if he had been planning such vile things. Finding Roach, he strapped his bag to her side and sighed.

“Ready to go?”

She lifted her head, staring at him. Geralt snorted, scratching behind one of her ears.

*

Geralt didn’t think about it again for weeks. Again, human affairs and all that were not part of his job.

But then he heard the name again — _Jaskier_ — when he was in Oxenfurt for an unrelated job. He was in the market when he accidentally overheard the conversation of some professors from the looks of it, tidy clothes and glasses balanced on their noses.

“Poor woman,” one of them was saying. “So young.”

Geralt glanced over at Roach, still by his side. “I shouldn’t get involved,” he said, and she snorted her reply. Even knowing that, he turned her with him and approached the men.

“Did I hear you right? Was the man named Jaskier?”

Unlike the bartender, the professors didn’t look at him with open disdain, more with a kind of detached curiosity and just a hint of fear.

“That was the name he gave the innkeeper,” the elder man said, clearing his throat.

Geralt hmmed, eyes flickering off to the side.

“What, do you know this monster?” he continued and now a bit of anger was bleeding through, darkening his voice. “He left a woman dead. To be found by the poor old innkeeper.”

Geralt sighed, looking back at the pair. “I don’t,” he said steadily, “but I have heard of him before. Unfortunately, I do not think this is his first time killing.” He paused. “Or likely to be his last.”

“Wh — what?” The man pulled out a cloth, dabbing his shiny forehead. “If that is the case, you have to _do_ something.”

Geralt stared at him blankly. “I do not get involved with human affairs.” He was already turning away. “You should take this to the mayor.”

“But you _have_ to,” he continued loudly, snottily. “He is obviously a threat to society, and —”

Geralt turned back to him, a retort on his tongue, when he flapped his arms like a bird and finished:

“And I’ll pay!”

Geralt knew what he should do. Turn and walk away, money be damned. But the last few months had been fairly dry, and he had been lucky to get a job in Oxenfurt at all. He shifted on his feet, weighing his options. He wasn’t _heartless_.

He didn’t like the idea of innocent people dying, even if most of them would be happy to see him dead. And humans were easy to deal with. Easy to _kill_.

Geralt focused his eyes, staring at the man. “How much?”

“How much do you want?” he countered, and that was how Geralt ended up with the job.

*

Calling the man — _Jaskier_ — a bard was an overstatement. Geralt quickly left Oxenfurt when there was no sign of the man and asked about him in every town and city he visited, but none of them had heard of him.

He didn’t have a breakthrough until he landed in an exceptionally small town near the coast, his payment for the job slowly dwindling. At the local tavern, nursing an ale, he heard a similar story. A man found dead after disappearing for the night with a pretty bright-eyed young man, a lute on his back.

Geralt stood up and approached the group, asking for more details. They didn’t know if Jaskier was still around, probably not if he was smart, but that he likely went west as that was the most well-traveled path.

Nodding curtly, he paid for his unfinished ale and left the tavern.

*

He was traveling by the coast at a steady pace, wind whipping at his face. He stumbled across many travelers on the path — the townsfolk had been right; it _was_ a well-traveled path — but none of them were Jaskier. Or at least, he couldn’t prove it. Not to mention, Jaskier had been described as stunning and none of the men he saw fit that description even a little bit.

At the end of the first day, he sighed and pulled off to the side. Roach snorted, and he knew she was overheated. He poured some water in a bowl and placed it on the ground for her, grabbing his bedroll and unrolling it.

“If he’s smart,” he said to his only companion as she drank greedily, “he won’t be traveling by road.”

Sighing, he leaned his head back and stared up at the darkening sky. At least it would be an easy kill. Finding him would be the hard part. Humans could be slippery bastards.

“Guess I’ll just follow the stench of death,” he grumbled before leaning back, sword by his side. If the human heard news of him, and was dumb enough to attack, it would just save him a lot of trouble.

*

Geralt opened his eyes to Roach snorting loudly. He assumed she was just throwing a fit, hungry or thirsty again, but when he sat up he realized that was not the case. A man stood by her, a hand on her neck.

He reached for his sword, eyes dark. “Who are you?” he asked, and he watched as the man visibly startled, spinning around.

Geralt knew it was him. He just _knew_. His dark hair was tousled messily and he stared at Geralt with the widest, bluest eyes he had ever seen. He was beautiful, certainly, dressed in a dark doublet, little dandelions stitched in the material. Roach snorted again, breaking the moment. Geralt was on his feet in a split-second, sword pointed at him.

“Wow, wow,” the man — _Jaskier_ — said, stumbling back, hands in the air. “I’m sorry for petting your horse without permission, but don’t you think this is a little, uh, _over_ react-y?”

Geralt growled low in his throat as he stepped forward, holding his sword steady. “Don’t play stupid,” he said. “You have been traveling the Continent killing innocents.” He smiled darkly, and watched as Jaskier’s expression turned from confusion to horror.

“You’re — you’re a — ” Jaskier stammered, pointing at his sword, eyes wide again. “No, okay, wait.” He shook his head, hard. “There has been a misunderstanding, I swear. I have never, ever killed a person. I mean, I’m a bard.” He winced. “Or _trying_ to be.”

Geralt tilted his head to the side. “You’re obviously lying,” he said. “Now if you don’t put up a fight, this can be over quickly.” He turned the sword in his hand. “Or you can try to fight me, like an idiot, and you will suffer. Greatly.”

Jaskier blinked, eyes still comically wide. “I — I haven’t killed anyone,” he repeated desperately, and there was something about the tone in his voice that made him pause.

“I have heard three separate accounts of your lovers being found dead after you sleep with them,” he said, gauging his reaction.

Jaskier opened his mouth but no words left his lips, his shoulders dropping low. Geralt stepped forward, lowering his sword just a little. Jaskier’s eyes snapped up to his face, fearful but steady.

“Did you kill them?” he asked, and Jaskier clenched his jaw.

“I did not,” he said.

Geralt narrowed his eyes, weighing his options. “Even if I believed you,” he said finally, “and I’m not saying I do — ” but he did, though he couldn’t fully explain why “ — your lovers were still found dead, and there has to be a reason for that.”

Jaskier turned away, arms folding over his chest. He was about Geralt’s height, but he looked smaller, somehow. Geralt waited, watching his face as he seemed to consider this, gnawing on his bottom lip. He really was a beautiful man.

He closed his eyes briefly, clearing his mind of those traitorous thoughts.

When he opened his eyes again, Jaskier was staring at him. “I — I don’t know,” he said quietly. “And if I don’t know, does that mean you have to — ?” He made a gesture with his hand, a finger sliding across his throat.

Geralt almost snorted. He should, truthfully, especially after taking all that money from the professor, but. “I think I can give you one last chance to prove yourself.”

Jaskier’s eyes brightened a little, hopeful. “Okay. Yes. Um.” He smiled slightly. “How, exactly?”

“Sleep with me,” he replied easily, and Jaskier paused with those wide eyes again.

He swallowed thickly. “Oh, I suppose — well, yes, that does make sense, given the situation.” His eyes followed the length of Geralt’s body, cheeks warming.

“I’ll see for myself what happens,” Geralt said bluntly. “And without the risk of someone else dying.”

Jaskier stared at him skeptically, fidgeting with the strap of his lute. “But what if _you_ die?”

Geralt smiled sharply. “I won’t,” he said. “Trust me.”

*

Geralt hadn’t slept with a man in a while. He enjoyed men just as much as women, actually, but finding suitable male partners wasn’t easy. In some parts of the Continent there was still disdain for that sort of the thing, and lots of men hid their own desires.

Jaskier was the opposite of that.

He was blunt in his desires as he rolled them over, straddling Geralt like _he_ was the one with all the power. His hands were sure and steady as he stroked over Geralt’s shoulders and chest, fingertips light over his scars.

“This feels — _weird_ ,” he said, not for the first time, even as he pressed down against Geralt’s cock, already half-hard, “I mean, you don’t even really _want_ this, and I feel like I’m kind of taking — ”

Geralt growled as he flipped them over again, pinning Jaskier down with his hands. “Stop talking,” he said, and Jaskier’s mouth snapped shut, eyes dark and wide.

The circumstances might not have been ideal, certainly, but he would hardly say this was a _task,_ a beautiful man underneath him. And after so long without sex, he was keyed up and ready to go.

Jaskier reached up once he had loosened his grip on his wrists, gently cupping his face with a gulp.

“Can I?” he asked, and Geralt knew it was a mistake when he nodded, and suddenly their lips were touching. Jaskier tasted sweet, almost like pure sugar. He groaned, licking into his mouth and that was when he felt the first of it: the tremble of his medallion, easily ignored at first as Jaskier dug his hands in his hair and moaned obscenely and —

Geralt yanked back, taking a deep breath. “ _Fuck_.”

Jaskier blinked up at him, eyes wide and dark, hands still in his hair. “What?” he asked hoarsely, and Geralt sat up fully, staring down at him. He _looked_ human, and he certainly felt human under his hands, solid and warm.

He tugged his medallion out from under his shirt, and Jaskier’s eyes are drawn to it.

“What is that?” he asked breathlessly.

Geralt frowned. “Warns me of beasts,” he said. He took Jaskier’s hand, pressing it to the medallion. “By trembling.”

Jaskier blinked once before he was yanking his hand back, eyes slits. “No,” he said with a conviction that actually surprised Geralt. He truly believed it. “No,” he repeated. “What are you talking about? I’m — _look_ at me!”

He stared at him — at the tousled brown curls that fell messily over his forehead, at the clarity of his blue eyes, kiss-swollen lips, at the smoothness of his pale skin. “Fuck,” he said. “You actually think you’re human.”

It wasn’t a question, and Jaskier snarled, pushing at his chest. His strength was unexpected; Geralt barely caught himself before he fell off the bed, frowning deeper.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he exploded, and Geralt raised both hands as if he was calming a wild animal. Truthfully, he didn’t think Jaskier was a threat. Or at least he didn’t think he _intended_ to be, but he knew emotions could be dangerous, for beasts _and_ humans.

“Tell me,” he said, and the request seemed to calm Jaskier a little, a mix of confusion and hurt settling on his face. “About yourself.”

Jaskier let out a disbelieving laugh. “ _What?_ ”

Geralt stared at him, unblinking. “Your father.” Jaskier didn’t react, but then — “And mother.”

His expression shifted instantly to anger, eyes dark. “What about her?” he asked sharply, and Geralt knew he had his answer, or at least a bit of it.

Geralt _hmm_ ed. “Did you know her?”

Jaskier glared at him, hard and unforgiving. “How — why would you ask me that?” he shot back. He paused, mouth twisting as he looked off to the side. “She died before I was born.”

“And you know that for a fact?”

Jaskier’s gaze snapped back to him. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” he growled, shifting. Geralt grabbed him before he could get up, hand wrapped tightly around his arm. Jaskier pursed his lips together. “I guess not,” he continued finally, voice steady.

Geralt nodded slowly. “You are human,” he said, and Jaskier relaxed a little. “ _Half_ -human.”

“Seriously?” he groaned, yanking out of his grip. “Wouldn’t I _know_ that?”

“You would, if you’ve ever stayed after bedding a person,” he said, and Jaskier blinked.

He shook his head. “What does _that_ have to do with — with any of this?” he asked, gesturing around at nothing.

Geralt took a short breath. “You are an incubus, Jaskier,” he said, and Jaskier’s answering laugh was sharp and harsh. Geralt waited as he worked through the laughter. Only then did he look at Geralt again, expression blank.

“You have to be joking,” he said.

Geralt raised his eyebrows. “I don’t joke,” he said bluntly, and Jaskier stared at him for a long second before scrubbing a hand down his face.

“If — okay, _if_ you are telling the truth, somehow,” Jaskier said finally, “then that means I’ve — I’ve _killed_ people.” He looked away. “Without even _knowing_ it.”

Geralt actually pitied him. “You didn’t know,” he agreed. “You didn’t kill them, not directly.”

Jaskier still wouldn’t look at him, silent. Finally he turned toward him, smiling darkly. “So, what? Do you have to kill me?”

“No,” he answered instantly, surprised by his own voice. “As it is, you can avoid killing by — ”

Jaskier interrupted him with a disbelieving laugh. “Never having sex again?” He scrubbed at his face again. “Lovely, truly.”

Geralt paused, unsure of what to say. Even he understood the appeal of a warm body, something he normally had to pay for. He glanced at Jaskier, no longer looking at him. Thought of his lute. Of the way he had felt under him. The unnatural taste of his lips, sugary-sweet and addictive.

“Not exactly,” he said eventually.

Jaskier turned to him, frowning. “What?” he asked, eyes suddenly brightening. “Can I learn to control it?”

“Maybe?” he answered. “But if so, I wouldn’t know where to start,” he added honestly. “I’ve never — this is a first for me,” he admitted, just shy of sheepish, a feeling he wasn’t familiar with. Jaskier nodded slowly.

“What did you mean?” he asked. “If not that.”

Geralt’s eyes flickered up to the ceiling, stayed there for a second, before lowering again. He was making a grave mistake and he knew it, and yet there was no stopping it. “You would kill any human you slept with,” he said, and Jaskier frowned again. Geralt swallowed. “But I’m not human,” he continued.

Jaskier stared at him, unblinking, for so long that he started to question if Jaskier was going to say anything.

“I — don’t know,” he said finally, flat.

Geralt ignored the part of his brain yelling at him to _stop_. “You could travel with me.”

“And… have sex with you,” Jaskier said.

Geralt shrugged. “You didn’t seem so against the idea,” he replied. “Before.”

Jaskier looked away and back again. “I — wasn’t,” he said. “I mean, of course not.” Jaskier shook his head, smiling ruefully. “Look at you, but I don’t — I don’t want you sleeping with me out of some kind of _obligation_.”

“Hardly an obligation,” he said evenly. “I thought that was clear.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “But that was when it was supposed to be a one-time thing. This would be different. You understand what you’re offering, right?”

Geralt stared at him, enchanted by his smooth skin, his bright eyes, unnaturally pink lips that he knew tasted like sugar. He had never had a travel companion before, not for longer than a few days. He’d never had any interest in something like that.

But now he was being offered a beauty, and he actually kind of wanted it.

Selfishly, he wanted it.

“I do,” he said.

Jaskier smiled slightly, just a small quirk of his lips. “Okay,” he said, and that was that.

*

Weeks later, far from the town they had met in, Geralt sat around the fire, watching as Jaskier strummed his lute, humming softly. He was still mostly naked, excluding his underclothes, hair damp with sweat and lips swollen. Jaskier paused for a moment, seeming to catch his eye. He smiled sweetly, fingers still on the strings.

“What?” he asked innocently, and Geralt fought not to smile back, which was becoming a harder and harder task the longer they spent together.

In the beginning, he had just seen Jaskier as a pretty face and now — thinking back — he felt an odd sense of guilt for ever thinking that. Now, he saw him as a friend.

A friend with kissable lips, and a voice like honey, and the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen.

“Just admiring the view,” he said dryly, despite the truth to it. Jaskier let out a soft laugh, rolling his eyes.

He might not have killed the offender, as promised, but he had tamed him and that worked just as well.


End file.
